


A Mine-or Inconvenience

by Chyrstis



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Explosions, Far Cry Fanzine 2020, Gen, and one very unlucky boar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chyrstis/pseuds/Chyrstis
Summary: Sharky’s day is off to a rough start, but it soon takes a turn even he wasn’t expecting. ...And that’s counting the smoking, boar-shaped spot on his front lawn.- Written for the Far Cry 2020: Tales From The Bunker Fanzine -
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4
Collections: Far Cry Fanzine 2020





	A Mine-or Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Far Cry Fanzine which you should absolutely check out [here!](https://www.dropbox.com/s/jqgp9zdbbc4o6i1/Far%20Cry%205%20Fanzine.pdf?dl=0)
> 
> This was a take on a moment leading up to the start of the game, namely one where Sharky's going about his daily business only for things to quickly go pear-shaped, (which was why this was named ‘I’m sorry, Sharky’ for so long, because I feel like I owe him an apology). I was lucky enough to work with the amazing farcrying on tumblr, and to also have peltonea, GuileandGall, and writerofblocks read through this for me to make sure it was coherent enough to post. You're all awesome, and I hope you never forget that. Oh, and this lovely title? It's entirely writerofblocks fault, and I can't thank her enough for that stroke of pun-fueled genius.
> 
> I also can't thank SpaceGoat enough for putting so much time, effort, and love into making this happen, as well as lucy-and-loki for giving each entry some amazing details to help them stand out.

Sharky’s back hurt. Ached like he’d spent the night bending it into shapes no back should ever be bent into. Not to mention his mouth was dry, and full of the kind of awful that told him the batch of alcohol he’d brewed might’ve turned a bit. Just enough to taste off, but not enough to toss it, and last night he’d drained a good bottle and a half of it before passing out. Not even on his bed, but on the floor half-under it, wound up in a sweatshirt pretending to be a blanket.

He didn’t even remember ending up there, and that probably should’ve told him how the day was going to go.

Getting up took more effort than he liked, and in the middle of taking a leak he’d nearly nodded off right then and there. Felt his eyelids droop as he stood there in the bathroom, and that’s when the hangover started taking potshots at his senses.

Fuzzy-headed and floating, Sharky took a step only to have his foot catch on something and slip right out from under him. Jeans. The same pair he’d shucked off the night before, and he only realized it when his bare ass hit the floor right next to them. That fucking hurt, but it beat taking a header straight into the toilet.

Pulling his underwear back up, he flopped onto his back. At least now if anyone happened to stop by – usually Hurk, but those Peggie pamphlet pushers were coming by more and more often – he wouldn’t have his dick hanging out. Shit, company was company, but he’d at least try to be polite. Give them the option of wanting to see more of him instead of laying it all out there from the start. That’s what being a gentleman was all about, after all.

Groaning, he pushed himself up and smacked his lips.

That’s when he picked up on it. The squealing. He’d chalked it up to his mind fucking with him, but it kept on going. Didn’t stop even after he’d climbed to his feet and gave his hands a quick wash under the faucet.

Growing louder, and louder, and louder-

The house shook, and the sound that went off sent him straight to his knees. Scrambling, and glad he hadn’t headbutted the sink, Sharky double-timed it to the door.

That wasn’t normal. In fact, that sounded a hell of a lot like-

He stopped, and thought back to last night. How he’d gone outside, set to get a big ol’ fire going only to tear ass in the opposite direction. Small and quick, he’d nearly lost his face to the snarling shadow on his heels, and collapsed once he’d managed to barricade the door behind him. The minute it was clear again, however, he’d left a little something to deal with it. He’d left a lot of little somethings, digging up half of his lawn to place the mines, and wondered just what he’d caught as he followed the smoke straight to the source outside.

The scorched spot on the dirt below was pretty big. He could see where the mine had been tripped, and given it’d been roughly ten to fifteen feet from his house, he’d been lucky it hadn’t blown the wall in, or been any of his party crashers. Those were for special occasions only, and burning half of his shit down just ‘cause he was blindsided by a wolverine wasn’t one of them.

But it’d been more than enough to get the job done here. And judging from what was left of the boar, he’d better get to finding the other mines he’d buried fast, or he was looking to join it. Waving his hand in front of his face to try and cut through the smell, he tugged his hoodie up to cover his nose as he glanced down at the messy path below.

…Then further beyond that towards the pair of white trucks rolling up. Sharky took in the painted cross on their sides, and leaned over the rail to get a better look at them.

Usually the Peggies didn’t spare more than a single truck at most, the exception being the time when he had motherfucking John Seed out here on his doorstep. He at least had pants on then, but it’d hardly been worth dragging himself over to the door to answer. Even with some of the hottest chicks he’d seen in a while, John’s smug-ass face put the brakes on any fun faster than he would’ve liked.

But John wasn’t here, and the Peggies he eyed didn’t look like they’d try to buy the shirt off of his back only to sell it back at five times the price. The ones in the truck bed climbed out, guns in hand, and his heart started pounding in time to his head.

“Yo, what’s happening, amigos?” Sharky called out. “You need something?”

Another climbed out of the passenger seat of the truck, his long, dark coat brushing the dirt. Right on the front of his face was the top prize for the worst tattoo placement he’d ever seen, and the cross running from the side of his cheek all the way down to his chin was one he’d notice even from over a hundred paces out.

That had nothing on the strange look in his eyes, though. Or the way he started talking at him. “You have been chosen! By his word you’ve been given one final chance to see if the message of the Father is one you wish to welcome into your heart.”

“Chosen?” Sharky’s eyebrows rose as the man started to approach him, and figured it’d probably be better to have this talk while he wasn’t scratching his ass. “That’s uh, that’s news to me, man. ‘Cause you’re still banning a whole lot of things that make life worth living, and I’m not really digging the idea of going with Joe’s flow if he ain’t changing that.”

The Peggie took a step forward, then two.

Each brought him closer to the house, and Sharky’s hands started to itch for the shotgun laying across his kitchen table. Just something solid to place between them and himself, because this was far from friendly. Sure, he hadn’t given them the best welcome before, but this group was clearly on the verge of fucking his shit up. The guns were still there, out and angling towards him, and he felt his smile slip right into a grimace.

And when the guy kept on talking, he didn’t let up. Went straight for the kind of expression that would’ve had anyone running in the opposite direction, and raised his voice loud enough for Sharky to want to screw his eyes shut.

“This is not to be taken lightly or dismissed, because this is not an offer. No, this is an opportuni-“

Sharky saw his eyes widen as a click went off. The kind he’d been unable to hear himself above the sound of the faucet running and the squealing of the vaporized boar, and prepped himself to bolt.

‘Cause if this was going the way of any of his and Hurk’s top ten movie marathon classics – and all signs were pointing straight to ‘hell yes’ - every good chase always started off with a bang.


End file.
